‘Hey, you don’t know that.’
‘A little more ice and rest?’
‘Guys - I’mnotrunning. And I just want to eat junk and drink beer, okay?’
And for JB, to lift his mouth into a smile, however small, required as much effort as lifting his leg up and off the cushions because that woollen tweed one? There was an itchy thread on it somewhere and it was starting to drive him mad.
Drew and Taylor shut the front door behind them and stood awhile just breathing in the day. Taylor beckoned with a tilt of his head as he walked off through the dunes. There was a strong wind today but after the overheated fug of the cottage, it was welcome. At the crest, they stopped. Taylor felt a strange sense of ownership, as if the view was his discovery, and he was gratified by Drew’s wonderment. All this, righthere? Taylor might bang on about beinginnotonHarris but it struck Drew that, from the ferry to the bar, and then the cars, the tweed shop and the cottage, he’d only beeninsidethe island. Here, now, with the wind flashing blades of silver through the grasses and flicking tiny shards of sand at his legs, all he could say was wow –wow!
Taylor gazed across the water to the island beyond; the sea was choppy and the surf today sounded irritable. ‘That island is called Taransay and these days it is uninhabited.’ He glanced at Drew. ‘It’s in the guide book,’ he said.
‘You think we can swim across? I see a beach right over there – look!’ Drew pointed across the water.
And Taylor thought, my genius friend the idiot. ‘You don’t see themilesof sand right here in front of you?’ he laughed. ‘And to the left filling that bay, and all the way over there, running the length of the coast?’
‘Oh yeah!’
‘You’re such a?—’
‘—yeah I know it! But I’d like to swim it all the same. This feels so good, just beingout.’
‘I’m exhausted from sitting indoors.’
‘I’m exhausted from no sleep – you snuffle and mutter all through the night, man.’
‘I do not.’
‘You do so.’
They’d shared the tiny twin room last night so that JB could have the double bed to himself. In the two small single beds, they’d messaged each other on their phones for hours. In between spurts of sharing stupider and stupider reels, they’d whatsapped earnestly, working through scenarios, dwelling on the tragedy of it all for JB, wondering what they could do, what would be for the best, how they could support him. It had been late when they put their phones down. And later still when, finally, Drew fell asleep after what had felt like hours listening to Taylor’s weird puppy noises.
‘Let’s go get JB his candy,’ Drew said, still gazing out at Taransay.
‘I’ll show you the route for Friday – it’s on the way. Hey – do you want to drive?’
‘Nope – these are your roads, this is your island.’
The girl with the blue and silver hair, Shona, regarded the utter crap which filled the shopping basket. She scanned each item very, very slowly, raising a supercilious eyebrow while Taylor grinned sheepishly and held his hands up in surrender. Back in the car, he was keen to drive on, to stay on this road and find the small but significant church at Rodel he’d read about, with all the history and the great views. To keep going along the rocky east of the island and explore the edgier landscape of frayed inlets and ragged bays. Finsbay. Flodabay. Manish. Geocrab. Plocrapool. Loch after loch and the Isle of Skye on the horizon. But Drew said no and Drew was right. Today wasn’t for touring. Today was all about JB who was back at the house alone, tending to his busted ankle with fury and frustration while no doubt his personal demons tormented him. Their buddy was in need of candy and beer and they had yet to drive the route of the marathon.
They stopped briefly at Borve deciding on where they’d leave the car on Friday, then they drove the route to Tarbert and calculated to the yard where they should turn to run all the way back again. This time, they were acutely aware of the climb out of town. That’s going to drag, Drew said. That’s going to hurt, said Taylor.
They found JB still bare-chested, still in his boxers, but not alone. Sitting in the other armchair, not quite sure where to look, was Becca the weaver.
‘What in God’s name have you done to this poor wee boyandthis kettle?’ she said just as soon as they were indoors. ‘I thought you werejoking.’
‘What did I tell you,’ JB said to her, as if they’d already discussed the pair of them. But to Drew and Taylor, what had or had not been said held little relevance. JB seemed brighter and that was what mattered. Drew displayed the haul of junk food.
‘Aye, but where are the boy’s Tunnocks?’ Becca said. They looked from one to the other, none the wiser.
‘Er – in his shorts?’ Drew tried cautiously.
‘Tunnocks,’ Becca said as if they were Philistines. ‘The king of snacks – teacakes, caramel wafers.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘Och I’m so sorry Jaybs,’ she said to JB. ‘I’ll send supplies.Sneachd nan uanpermitting.’
‘That’ll be lamb’s snow,’ JB explained. ‘They still get snow in April, even in May, during lambing season. There’s some forecast.’
Drew checked his watch – how long had they been out that this new-best-friendship had formed in their absence?Jaybs?!
‘Andyouandyou!’ Becca continued at Taylor and Drew. ‘If your jaws dropped any lower they’d hit the floor.’ She turned to Taylor. ‘So I’ve been to see Donald John and I showed him your cloth, told him your grandfather’s name. He doesn’t remember him – but he knows a weaver who very well might. So we gave him a call on your behalf – and you are welcome to visit.’
